"Oh no, I love our storms; but my mother is alone at home, and she does not."
She told him, toying with her permits, of her curious collection of passes and other war-curios, and he left the room with a friendly—
"Perhaps I can find something for you too," returning with a button from his coat and a colonel's crown.
"The storm is over; let us see what damage has been done," and he led the way into the garden, showed her the flowers, asked the names of shrubs unknown to him.
"Oh, mother, the English must not be so good to us! It is not right to accept favours at their hands, for it places us in a false position. Don't ever ask me to go to General Maxwell again."
"Of course not. I quite agree with you, but I am very glad to have those permits. Did you ask about the portmanteau and box?"
"Yes. He said it was all right, and promised to give permits, so that they need not be examined."
They did not leave for Johannesburg, after all, on Monday, for a full list of the names of prisoners from Ventersdorp arrived, but there was no van Warmelo among them.
Telegrams were sent right and left, but there was something strange about the whole affair, and no satisfactory answers could be got until five days after the first tidings had reached Harmony. The prisoner was at Potchefstroom.